The Myth of Letting Go

A metaphor-heavy exploration of emotional suppression, ego, essence, and the confusion in modern spiritual advice

What if the spiritual “masters” telling you to let go and raise your vibration are essentially advising you to sweep all your feelings under the rug and pretend the mess isn’t there? What if the approach in today’s spirituality is tailored around gaslighting your mind and compromising your soul’s mission? What if it’s less about Marie Kondo-ing your feelings (“Does this fear spark joy?”) and more about leaning into the mess, like elbow-deep in glitter glue, because your essence came here for the mess?

Picture this: your essence, your true self, is like a wide-eyed child in Disneyland—eager, curious, ready to explore. And your brain, mind, and ego? They’re the overprotective parent, waving their metaphorical index finger and hissing, “No, you can’t ride that roller coaster—it’s too risky!” Or worse, standing in line and lecturing the child about how unacceptable it is to even feel excitement for the ride. “Don’t feel those emotions,” says the parent. “They’ll mess up our perfectly curated photo album!”

But the child? It doesn’t want the toys that the parent keeps offering as substitutes for the thrill of the rides. It doesn’t want to stay in the tidy playroom where nothing spills or breaks. The child came here for the roller coasters, the haunted houses, the teacups that spin so fast they blur reality. Because back home—in the infinite serenity of the essence’s eternal existence—it already has pure bliss and harmony. What it doesn’t have? The glorious chaos of the human experience.

And here’s the paradox: while the child runs headfirst into the rides, the parent keeps shouting:
“You’re making a mistake wanting this! You should only want peace and perfection—raise your frequency and stop indulging in the messy stuff!”

What if true suffering isn’t the thrill of the ride or the chaos of the mess but the parent’s misguided attempts to convince the child it doesn’t belong here at all?

What if the ego isn’t a sneaky con artist sabotaging your peace, but instead the dedicated project manager of your life’s to-do list of rides? You know, the one waving the clipboard, saying, “Nope, we haven’t finished the haunted house yet, Karen. Get back in line!” It’s not there to trap you; it’s there to make sure you don’t skip the rides you signed up for.

What if the goal isn’t to be permanently blissful? (Plot twist: even perpetual bliss gets boring. Imagine a world where “vacuuming” is the most exciting event of the day.) What if instead, life is about feeling the full, Technicolor spectrum of emotions—even the ones labeled “oh no” or “eww”?

What if the messy, heavy, or downright cringe-worthy experiences aren’t glitches in the matrix, but Disneyland’s crown jewels of entertainment? The loop-de-loops, the spin-your-guts-out rides, the haunted houses with “DO NOT ENTER” signs that everyone enters anyway. What if your essence is basically the child dragging you by the hand, yelling, “Oh my God, this ride is gonna wreck us—let’s go!”

And what if true suffering isn’t the ride itself, but the misinformed parent—the brain, mind, and ego—standing at the entrance yelling at the child:
“No, Timmy, stop it! You’re not supposed to want this roller coaster!”
“But I need this roller coaster,” says the child.
“Well, tough! You’re supposed to play quietly with your toys and journal about gratitude, young man!”

Imagine shouting in a child’s face as they’re literally in line for the ride of their dreams:
“This attraction doesn’t spark joy! Don’t even think about enjoying it, and if you’ve already been on it—shame on you! Never feel those feelings again!”

The kid stares back at you, unfazed, saying, “Okay, boomer.” Because here’s the truth: the child doesn’t care if you think their life choices are valid or not. This fresh soul came here to ride, not to explain its motivations to Karen at the teacups.

And why does the child love the rides? Because back at home—where the essence resides—it’s surrounded by infinite calm, peace, and a suspicious absence of popcorn stains. Life is perfect there, and perfect gets a little too… predictable. So, the essence thinks, “You know what I need? A world where plumbing randomly fails, traffic happens, and my stomach drops 13 floors on the Tower of Terror.”

Now think about it: would you pay money to vacation at a resort that’s exactly like your own house, right down to the unmatched socks and the “mystery smell” in the fridge? Of course not. You came here for the rides.

We are not “God”

Related: “I Will Teach You How You Can Manifest it ALL!”
We didn’t come to this planet to stage a divine cosplay of the Almighty. Sure, we’ve got a spark of God’s essence inside us—a mini matchstick of creation—but it’s not like the universe handed you a cape and said, “Go forth, omnipotent one.” No. You were handed bills, emotions, and a body that occasionally malfunctions like a 15-year-old laptop.

The “you are God” pep talk? It was like a shot of espresso for humanity—a buzz to get us off the couch of victimhood. But somewhere along the way, we got hopped up on the caffeine and decided to make it a religion. Now? It’s a business model. Unlimited gods offering masterclasses to other gods on “manifesting abundance” while both complain about their Wi-Fi.

Let’s clarify a few things:

• True God? Still invisible. It’s not you, not me, and definitely not Steve from accounting.
• Even at peak evolution, you’re not going to suddenly feel like you can command thunderstorms or cook spaghetti without burning it.
• And your highest self? It’s got boundaries, and sometimes it trips over them—because that’s what growth looks like.

What’s that? This isn’t breaking news? Good. It’s not supposed to be. But it is delivered with a little more sass.

Here’s where it gets personal.
Maybe you’re thinking, “But I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I hate where I’m at. My life feels like the undercooked pancake no one wants.” Good. That means you’re doing it right.

How can that possibly be right? you ask. Because you signed up for the messy parts too. You’re playing your role perfectly. Despising the chaos is part of the deal—hating the roller coaster while secretly loving the thrill.

But shouldn’t I feel proud or supported? Isn’t authenticity supposed to feel… good?
Not always. Sometimes authenticity feels like eating saltine crackers at midnight and wondering why life didn’t come with instructions.

So, is this supposed to fix anything? Nope. It’s just here to remind you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be—even when the popcorn machine breaks, and you’re stuck in line for a ride you didn’t think you’d signed up for.

And if you want to try another teaching or philosophy? Go ahead. You’ll try them all—until you’re ready to stop searching.

In the meantime, know this:

The mess isn’t a mistake. The suffering isn’t proof of failure. The greatest lie ever sold was that your life was supposed to look a certain way—that your destiny was endless bliss, Instagram-worthy sunsets, and zero bad hair days.

That destiny was never yours.

Your real destiny, designed by the true Creator, was to live fully. To ride the roller coasters, get stuck on the Ferris wheel, cry over spilled milkshakes, and laugh so hard you snort soda through your nose. Your essence didn’t choose to replicate perfection—it came to explore imperfection and find the beauty in all its awkward, messy glory. It came to exit “upgraded” than the state it arrived!